


Forgiven Petulance

by darkforetold



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Biting, F/M, Frottage, Grinding, Jealousy, Pining, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22682005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: Emet-Selch flipped her on her back without so much as a word, their bodies flush, the sudden heat between them indescribable. Her abrupt intake of air, the tilt of her hips up, pressing hard against his—the moment of friction scattered his brain. All he could manage was a fingertip-touch to her lips. “Behave.”“No, I don’t think I will.”She nipped at his finger, catching the tip of his glove between her teeth. The mischief in her eyes, the arch of her brow in a quiet dare. He almost didn’t notice her light sizzling against his dark aether. Too consumed by everythingherin that instant to notice the pain. Tempting fate, even, by brushing his lips against her jawline.“Then, I too promise to misbehave.”
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 32
Kudos: 82
Collections: Valentine's Fic Exchange 2020





	Forgiven Petulance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feeeshy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feeeshy/gifts).



> The prompt included: one-sided angsty pining, slight nsfw and biting—and if you squint ~~really hard~~ , I even tried to write "a cute moment between them." I hope you like this, feeeshy!
> 
> Thank you, as always, to frostmantle's amazing beta skills! ilu!

Emet-Selch took a deep breath and let his sigh pierce the din of their prattle. "Must you plan _every_ last detail of your trip to Amh Araeng?"

The Warrior of Light and her friends shot him a frown.

"Hmph. Not one onze of spontaneity among you, I see. Fine. I will leave you to it."

In a burst of darkness and aether, he left them in the Ocular, retiring to the Warrior of Light’s room at The Pendants: a quiet place both familiar and, in a way, strange. Familiar because he had laid her bare on that selfsame bed, reveling in her thrice undoing. Strange, too—because everything that she had ever hoped to be, ever was, was here in her belongings and his for the taking. And he had never given himself the chance to pry.

It was miraculously clean and tidy, a contrast to the delightfully filthy way she had spread herself for him just a few suns prior. The bedspread smooth—not in the rumbled state they had left it. The scent of lemon and lavender replacing sweat and sex. Everything had its place. Every book, page, and knickknack carefully and quietly playing its designed role in the blessed darkness. Like he had never upended her world or left her crying out for him. 

Like he had never existed at all. 

On the table, a plate of powdery confections, prim and proper, made to impress. A note besides, in its pretty white envelope. Delicate and unopened. He spun it with a gloved finger, considering, then plucked it from its repose and tore it open. Eloquent handwriting, loops and curls meticulously formed, sentences overly lyrical. Deluging her with gratitude for her sacrifices, her patience, her—

From the Crystal Exarch.

"Well, well. Another sentimental fool clinging to your skirts." He rolled his eyes, tossing it with a flutter of fingers.

It all made sense now, he mused. The painfully obvious way the Exarch seemed to—watch her intently when she even dared to breathe. He wondered if his skin flushed every time he saw her. If the boyish lilt to his otherwise strong, clear voice was any indication that he was _affected_ by her too. Did the Exarch fantasize about her? Want her like he himself did?

A stab of jealousy cut at his spine.

To the nightstand, beside her bed. He rummaged through the small tokens on top with two fingers. Tipping over a dragoon chess piece, pulling free a loose piece of parchment and unceremoniously flipping it aside. Self-admittedly petulant in his invasion of her privacy. Did she dream of the Exarch? Was this carnation another gift of his? 

Petal by petal, he plucked at it, tossing each withered and broken. A sprinkling of fragrant color plagued her books and sketches—musings of a girl lost in her becoming a hero, worshipped by broken husks.

But did he not, as well, worship her in a way? Shuffling through her things like a dog looking for scraps. For any sign that she might remember. Or care.

Or love.

He flopped down on the bed, spreading hands across the fine bedspread, fingertips touching—a book, hidden under the pillow. No, he corrected, freeing it from secrecy. A journal.

_Her_ journal.

On his back, legs crossed at the ankles, Emet-Selch tucked in for a delectable read. Her inner thoughts sprawled in front of his eyes, in pretty handwriting, sweeping across the pages like wind might carry a petal. The latest entry, then, where she divulged her anguish over Lakeland, of those she couldn’t save. Of the Exarch’s captain, Lyna, and her struggle to stay strong. How the Warrior of Light related to her. Looked up to her even.

“A little dramatic and _boring_ , even for you,” he muttered to no one.

With a finger, he skimmed the lines and found aught but drivel. Of her bemoaning her own existence. Of trials and tribulations that were trivial in the grander scheme of things. Several pages of the same, nothing of interest. A dog-tagged entry deeper into the journal, hidden in blank pages. Surely, this…

_The Crystal Exarch. An enigma, yet… familiar. Comfortable—and even, if I might be so bold, intoxicating in his mystery. The complete opposite of Emet-Selch, whom I find rather… uninspiring._

Uninspiring.

_Uninspiring._

He clenched his teeth, fingertips drumming a ragged tune on the journal’s cover. His mind raced with the ramifications, the direct and insulting comparison. Intoxicating. _Uninspiring._ To wit, their fucking had been anything _but_ uninspiring. Her breathlessness, her broken and desperate moans. Her skin soft and damp against his. The way she had speared herself on his cock, hungry for him—the absolute _opposite_ of uninspiring. 

If she were so _uninspired_ —

His heart skipped a beat. Insurmountable light—he felt it nipping at his skin, even from this distance. Just down the hall and coming closer. Feeding on her bones, oversaturating her skin. He could almost _smell_ it. A mixture of sunlit fields and wet ink on burning parchment. Chamomile and lavender ruined by the sickly sweetness of decay. There, at the door, and now—in the room.

Their eyes met.

The color of her soul had always been magnificent. Blues and purples, of greens shifting into golds. Even muted, tarnished by her Sundered imperfection, it hummed with the abundance of life he remembered from so long ago. And oh, how he fell in love with her all over again in that singular moment. That selfsame sparkle in her eyes from time immemorial. Confusion twisted her beautiful face, and it was the selfsame expression he had seen time and time again. Taken with everything she was, he almost smiled—then, he remembered where he was. Thousands of years later, in a time she didn’t remember them.

Or love him.

Emet-Selch donned indifference. Boredom. Looking away from her entirely, to sigh with practiced exasperation.

“While I was _waiting_ , I thought I might entertain myself.” He absently flipped a page. “Only fitting that Zodiark Himself would bless me with none other than your most precious, dearest thoughts. Plum for the taking. And who would have guessed? The Warrior of Light. A veritable songstress. My, how wonders never cease—”

“What are you reading?”

“—Yet, while I find myself sufficiently spared from boredom, your prose lacks… a certain spark, and is overall rather _uninspiring_.” He finally looked at her. Unimpressed. “Your journal, as I said. An _intoxicating_ little read, if I must say. Riveting. My favorite bit: “ _The Crystal Exarch bores me, and the very sight of him makes my skin crawl—_ “

She was on the bed in that very moment, and he yanked the journal beyond her fingertips. 

“ _—In comparison, Emet-Selch intrigues me. Excites me. Truly makes my heart sing. I want him to fu_ —would you _please_ stay still. I am trying to read.” 

Another desperate attempt at the book left her straddling him, her hand seeking balance on his chest. His whole body revolted under the radiance of her light, her touch like a thousand needles sinking into his skin all at once. The arid stench of it almost stole air from his lungs. He suffered willingly, addicted to the way it felt, how it hurt him, how she ruined him by touch alone. 

“I’m absolutely sure…“ She grabbed for the journal one last time. Defeated. “I didn’t write any of that.”

“Isn’t it?” He suspended the book over the side of the bed, then simply dropped it. “Well, we shall never know for certain, now will we?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I believe what I wrote was—“

“Mind yourself, hero,” he warned.

“—how uninspiring you are. Yes, that’s exactly what I wrote. _Uninspiring_.”

“A lie,” he countered, “I seem to remember you spread quite prettily around my cock rather inspired by the way I was fucking you. Singing my praises and begging for more.” 

“Oh, please. I was mildly entertained at best.”

He scoffed. “Has your memory truly suffered so much under the Wardens’ Light? Do you need to be inspired anew?“

“Why would I ever let you touch me again?”

“Because against your better judgment, you cannot simply resist the temptation of a warm body—as, I am most certain, many of your conquests before me can attest.”

She tilted her head to the side, beautiful face askew. “Did you just—call me a whore?”

“Must you _always_ assume I intend to demean you? _Really_. I would not dream of it.” He clucked his tongue. “Though, I do wonder if you plan to add the Crystal Exarch to your hunt.”

The swirling sun of her soul flared with burst of green. He could see it in her eyes, the sly quirk of her mouth. Her gaze slanted in a way that betrayed her wicked games. 

—and he was thrilled.

“Now that you’ve mentioned it, yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest, thinking. “I wonder if he has a crystal cock. I absolutely can’t wait to find out. I’m sure I’ll find it all very… _intoxicating._ ”

Jealousy. Fatal and quick. 

He flipped her on her back without so much as a word, their bodies flush, the sudden heat between them indescribable. Her abrupt intake of air, the tilt of her hips up, pressing hard against his—the moment of friction scattered his brain. All he could manage was a fingertip-touch to her lips. “Behave.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” 

She nipped at his finger, catching the tip of his glove between her teeth. The mischief in her eyes, the arch of her brow in a quiet dare. He almost didn’t notice her light sizzling against his dark aether. Too consumed by everything _her_ in that instant to notice the pain. Tempting fate, even, by brushing his lips against her jawline.

“Then, I too promise to misbehave.”

He buried his face in her neck, teething her skin. She gasped and arched her back, thighs spreading farther apart to accommodate him, and the hard press of his aching cock against her.

“You’re rather inspired,” she whispered breathlessly. “Is it me? Or was it the Exarch’s crystal cock?”

He nosed her pulse point. “The latter. _You_ are an insufferable bore.”

“Is that so,” she rasped. Noise broken. “Well, I find you quite repulsive.“

He kissed the column of her throat. “Do you.”

“Not at all irresistible.” The tremble of a sigh. 

“Tell me more of how much you despise me.”

“I—“

He silenced her with a kiss, the backs of his fingers a subconscious, feather-light touch up and down her side. A naked attempt to connect with her, reach back into their shared past and relive. Light lashed at his darkness, and he endeavored to survive a thousand of them, kissing her with a passion he hadn’t felt in lifetimes. Inviting his own damnable destruction. She arched her back, pulled into his orbit, and returned his affections with the same vigor—and for a moment, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he knew happiness. 

—and in that very same moment, she broke their kiss. Leaving him to stare down at her in wonder. Regret flickered over her face, marring her soul.

“I—I can’t—“ she whispered. “I—don’t want gentle.”

He swept soft fingers up her throat and gently thumbed her jawline. Her light cut against him in protest—until he brutally whipped her head to one side, lips harsh against her ear.

“Then, I shall ruin you for anyone else, my dear.”

“ _Yes_ —“

He pinned her arms over her head and bit into her neck, driving his hips hard and rough against hers—the way she wanted and needed it. The noise from her lips sounded shattered, on the very precipice of euphoria. He drank it down and chased it with his tongue. Their bodies moving in tandem, heat suffusing their skin. Every one of her weaknesses, he knew. The desire for tenderness bloomed across her soul, but warred with the black hurts of her past—the distrust, the fear of ever being hurt again. He wanted to soothe every part of her, kiss her, touch her in ways that would mend her wounds. But instead, he concentrated on her light, how it slashed him to ribbons, and fought against it with a bite at her jawline, his vice-like grip on her wrists. 

Somewhere, in the din of pain and light, of chamomile and lilies, her soft and warm skin, she keened beneath him. Her body betraying her so suddenly that all she could do was whisper out a quiet laugh. Like bells chiming in sunlight, a flutter of butterfly’s wings, delicate and ephemeral. 

And with it, all his tension simply melted away. He stole a moment to take her in, her flushing face, the soft smile playing on her lips. “Do tell me again how uninspiring I am.”

“Be quiet.” She swatted at his arm. “I…“

—a knock at the door, then a voice. “Are you in there? It’s time to leave.”

One of the twins. The mouthy one. _Alisaie_.

He cocked a smile. “Ah, your wicked little friend. Shall we knock you off the pedestal upon which she has so rightly placed you? Tell her what you truly do behind closed doors? She may find the truth quite enlightening.”

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed.

The door handle turned, and the Warrior of Light screeched a panicked, “In a moment! I’m not decent!”

“Not decent, indeed,” he mused. “What would happen if she found you like this? Compromised?”

“Let me up,” she hissed. True panic flashed in her eyes.

“I heard voices,” Alisaie said, “Who’s in here with you? Are you all right?”

“Alisaie, please!” She looked at him. “ _Please_. I beg you.”

He had described the color of her soul to Hythlodaeus once, so taken by how it shifted under certain conditions to which only he had been privy. The color of an Amaurotine sunset, of orange streaked with ribbons of crimson when she, lifetimes ago, had loved him. Green when she felt mischievous, and a golden yellow when happiness threatened to spill over.

Blue was the color of her regret and shame.

As far and as deep as he could see, in that moment, he only knew blue.

He was gone in a bloom of violet and darkness. Before the vaunted Warrior of Light had to explain her missteps and betrayals, and her uninspiring misadventures in sin.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


End file.
